Tim Drake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_hit_list) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-07-24 09:53 am
the_hit_list) wrote in thearena2013-07-24 09:53 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] Why don't you come to your senses?
Who| Tim Drake and OPEN
What| Tim is making like Moses, only he’s lost his tribe.
Where| Anywhere in the desert arena! Dessert Arena Tributes are free to bump into him in the tunnels.
When| Week 5 (from the day after the start of the sandworms) through Week 6
Warnings/Notes| No warnings thus far. Big note: I’m not looking for death here, as Tim’s been bought out.
The desert is slipping into sameness. There was never much to differentiate one acre of open, baked ground to begin with, save for some areas being more sandy and others more packed and cracked, but Tim had been doing okay with recognizing this cactus as opposed to that one, using the boulders and rock formations as landmarks. Mnemonics helped. This one was the Keebler Elf, in profile, and that one reminded him of Red Tornado. He’s been losing his touch with directions, though. It started when they found AndrAIa’s body. Worsened when he watched Punchy pass away.
Then, he saw himself die. Swallowed by a sandworm that was there and gone in an instant. It had happened so close to him. One second, walking along as normally as they can, with the younger Tim Drake slightly ahead and to the side. . The rumbling again, nearer than it had ever been and bearing down on them. He thought that it was a flash flood. It had to be. Instinct said to run for the mountain.
Only one of them made it. Now, after spending days holed up in and on the mountain, Tim has been aimlessly wandering the Arena.
He can't think about it. It's not any easier to this time around, with no way to have saved any of them. It doesn't ease the guilt, regret, anger. Tim tries to keep himself occupied with other things, inventorying in his head what he had and what he’d lost over and over without brushing the reasons why. He had a sleeping bag, rolled up around two lidded containers that were watertight and a container with a smidgen of burn cream left in it. The bundle is tied up with rope and slung over his shoulders, cross body, like a yoga mat or a quiver – except for the curved scythe blade sticking dangerously up out of it. Tim had shoved what handle was still attached into the roll as snugly as it would go. The staff is ever in hand. Punchy’s mask, borrowed after the teen no longer needed it, is on under Tim’s sunglasses.
The tent, wire, most of the meat, and throwing knives are gone. What else is gone, besides the lunch that he hadn’t been able to keep down in this heat today? He can’t remember. He lost them… was it four days ago? It might have only been three. Another thing that he’s failing to keep track of. He’s got a few small comforts left: he hasn’t seen Steph, Damian, Barbara, Diana, or Howard in the night sky.
But he can’t find any of them.
What| Tim is making like Moses, only he’s lost his tribe.
Where| Anywhere in the desert arena! Dessert Arena Tributes are free to bump into him in the tunnels.
When| Week 5 (from the day after the start of the sandworms) through Week 6
Warnings/Notes| No warnings thus far. Big note: I’m not looking for death here, as Tim’s been bought out.
The desert is slipping into sameness. There was never much to differentiate one acre of open, baked ground to begin with, save for some areas being more sandy and others more packed and cracked, but Tim had been doing okay with recognizing this cactus as opposed to that one, using the boulders and rock formations as landmarks. Mnemonics helped. This one was the Keebler Elf, in profile, and that one reminded him of Red Tornado. He’s been losing his touch with directions, though. It started when they found AndrAIa’s body. Worsened when he watched Punchy pass away.
Then, he saw himself die. Swallowed by a sandworm that was there and gone in an instant. It had happened so close to him. One second, walking along as normally as they can, with the younger Tim Drake slightly ahead and to the side. . The rumbling again, nearer than it had ever been and bearing down on them. He thought that it was a flash flood. It had to be. Instinct said to run for the mountain.
Only one of them made it. Now, after spending days holed up in and on the mountain, Tim has been aimlessly wandering the Arena.
He can't think about it. It's not any easier to this time around, with no way to have saved any of them. It doesn't ease the guilt, regret, anger. Tim tries to keep himself occupied with other things, inventorying in his head what he had and what he’d lost over and over without brushing the reasons why. He had a sleeping bag, rolled up around two lidded containers that were watertight and a container with a smidgen of burn cream left in it. The bundle is tied up with rope and slung over his shoulders, cross body, like a yoga mat or a quiver – except for the curved scythe blade sticking dangerously up out of it. Tim had shoved what handle was still attached into the roll as snugly as it would go. The staff is ever in hand. Punchy’s mask, borrowed after the teen no longer needed it, is on under Tim’s sunglasses.
The tent, wire, most of the meat, and throwing knives are gone. What else is gone, besides the lunch that he hadn’t been able to keep down in this heat today? He can’t remember. He lost them… was it four days ago? It might have only been three. Another thing that he’s failing to keep track of. He’s got a few small comforts left: he hasn’t seen Steph, Damian, Barbara, Diana, or Howard in the night sky.
But he can’t find any of them.
no subject
And too bad for her stomach.
She entered the caves hoping to spot someone she knew. Boredom had her walking deeper than she had before. The sudden appearance of metal bars caused her to stop. "What the...?" On the other side was a cave that looked less candy coated and more like an actual cave in a mountain. She gripped the bars and shook her arms, but the metal was strong and deep in the ground. It was her bet that somewhere over there were the other Tributes that had "died" that first day.
Setting this THIS week.
But he couldn't keep staying away from it. Not after searching aimlessly for some other connection. There had to be a way over there. There had to be more than just a tease. How else would the field ever narrow down to one? Maybe they'd open them up when the numbers got lower. Maybe they were open now, and he could get out of this oven-roaster hellhole.
When he was nearing the gate again, Tim caught his breath as a voice carried down towards him, followed by the sound of someone struggling against the bars. He knew that voice. He had to stop himself from racing the last bit - he was not going to give them the satisfaction of a slow-motion instant replay of lovers running to each other.
This was a set-up, and he knew it in his core. They want their highlight reel, and he, well - Tim wanted to see for himself what shape Stephanie was in. There was nothing else to do but walk forward, pulling Punchy's mask down to hang around his neck, until Stephanie came into view. "So. What're you in for?"
gross, i'm so behind
The bars that separated them were wedged deep into the cave floor, but she still gave them a little shake.
"Timmy. You're looking worse for wear." She smiles. She smiles because she is happy to see him. That doesn't mean the smile reaches her eyes. She too is worn down. Her light pink hair is in a braid now, but that's the only part that looks decent. Still, she's a live which means something.
"I'd kiss you but I bet you have horrible desert breath."